The Sacrifices We Make
by WickedWitch1313
Summary: Taking place during the end of the epispde "Lauren," Hotch and Emily are left to test their relationship's strength to the breaking point as she traverses continents and he hides her secret from everyone he loves.
1. Waiting

_A/N: Okay, I just got around to watching the recent episodes of Criminal Minds. I was more than ticked off when the producers deigned to cut Prentiss' character in half and JJ completely out of the show. Needless to say, I missed me some good writing prompts. _

_So here's the sitch: This particular chapter takes place in the hospital waiting room during the episode "Lauren." This is before JJ delivers the verdict and it is Hotch's POV. It is assumed that Hotch and Emily were in a discreet, unknown relationship for a while before this takes place, so do keep that in mind. I'd like to think that it started somewhere mid fourth season but the juicy details of all that are all up to you. _

_As always, I do not own Criminal Minds nor any of it's characters. If I did, I would keep them on the show indefinitely :) Regardless, all rights are reserved to those who are within rights to reserve them. And on that happy legal note, Enjoy!_

Hotch stared down at his hands. On the surface he was much the same as his fellow Agents: bent over with worry covering his face. On the inside, though, his heart was breaking. On the inside his mind was reeling; searching for hope, bartering shamelessly with the God he'd stopped talking to since his divorce, praying incessantly for her to be okay.

The wooden stake had gone in deep, he'd seen it himself: 6 inches in at least. The sight alone had nearly upturned hi stomach. Seeing her there, on the stretcher as they proceeded to bus her to the hospital, seeing her pale face: weak and in so much pain as to push her past the brink, that was what killed him. The sight of her there was one he'd planned on never having to see in his life.

On some sick, subconscious level, he felt the innate urge to laugh at the absurdity of her injury: a wooden stake. He remembered the day Garcia had hacked Emily's high school yearbook account, revealing the agent's rendezvous of gothic fashion. She'd later confessed on the plane home from the case that it was intended to be more of literary tribute than a Hollywood shout out.

_Hotch looked up from his stack of files briefly as Prentiss came to sit in the seat diagonal to his. She seemed tired, the lingering details of the case undoubtedly troubling her. Hotch had noticed that about her. While the other team members would sleep or read or drown out the latent horror with music, she always appeared to ponder the various aspects of the cases, reviewing every intricate detail in her head. _

_To tell the truth, it worried him. He'd already lost on agent to the job before. She too had not been able to let go of the cases, of the images of bloodshed and carnage that made up their daily workload. But Prentiss, to her credit, did give the impression of residual stress. She rarely looked disturbed or grievous. More often than not, she was pensive, as if attempting to catalog the previous events. She compartmentalized rather than dwelled and that made all the difference._

_Indeed, Hotch recognized that same look on her face tonight. He waited for a few minutes, allowing her to digest the case and it's elements before politely clearing his throat. "So," he started, his eyes flickering up from the open case in his hands to her deep, dark, eyes, "Winona Ryder phase, huh?"_

_Prentiss scowled deeply, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You weren't supposed to see those." She sighed, adjusting in her jet seat to achieve maximum comfort. "But for your information, __**sir**_,_ I was not much of a Winona Ryder fan. And God only knows I wasn't emulating her. To be honest, I was more of an Anne Rice fan, myself."_

_Hotch's eyebrow sky-rocketed up his forehead in surprise, "Vampires, Prentiss?" The woman never ceased to amaze him._

"_It was just a rebellious phase! I didn't –"she paused, "__**don't**__ get along with my mother." She explained, "What with our constant moving and my resentment, I guess I figured the best way to get back at her was to adopt an image that would, I dunno, cause her embarrassment or something. It wasn't much of revenge but it was all I really had on me."_

_Hotch studied her for a moment, filing away the bits of newfound Intel into his little, mental "Prentiss" file. Reveling in this bought of revealed personal information, he was distracted enough to not notice the odd look she had focused on him. At least for a while he was._

"_What?" he asked finally._

_Prentiss smirked and sat back in her chair, "Oh nothing, sir, I was just surprised is all. It strikes me as a bit unusual for a man such as yourself to be so knowledgeable in the various works of Anne Rice vampire literature."_

Hotch felt the corner of his lip twitch in involuntary amusement. God, even then, even before they'd begun seeing each other, she'd known how to push his buttons. Even more so afterward…

When he'd heard JJ account the nature of her undercover relationship with Doyle, his blood had all but boiled. And not just because the idea of her with someone else –even beforehand- made him jealous as hell but also because that relationship made this attack personal. It meant she was going to get hurt. It meant that tat while they might be afforded more time to find her that time would be at her expense.

And it had been.

He looked around him, noting the various positions of grief that surrounded him: Derek's furious tension, Penelope's barely controllable dry sobs, Dave's silent mutters of prayers, Spencer's nervous rocking, and Ashley's tight, curled form.

They all needed Emily to be okay. They needed to be assured of that.

JJ came around the doorway solemnly. She looked uncomfortable, tense and exhausted. Hotch saw it in her eyes, in her posture, in her face: Emily was no coming home.

_A/N 2: Just as a side note, the flashback takes place before the relationship between Emily and Hotch had started. Anywho, reviews are a good thing and hopefully feed the little people in my head that make me write these lovely things._


	2. Until Next Time

_A/N: Chapter 2! Done early! Fiesta on my page! Anyhow, this chapter is also Hotch's POV with a little dash of JJ in there. Forgive the mushiness but grief, if you think about it, is indeed a mushy thing. Granted, the whole idea doesn't seem so when applied the word "Mushy." _

_Enjoy your reading!_

Seeing his team suffer would normally have driven Hotch into a fit of fury and thoughts of homicidal tendencies but now, none of the anger came. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

He could hear Penelope's wailing denials, Derek's quiet cursing. He saw Reid get up and make a run for it and he saw JJ catch him up into her arms soothingly.

He saw it all but he saw nothing.

The world was empty, devoid of color, laughter, life. Devoid of Emily.

Numbly, he stood up and exited the congested waiting room. He had to get out of there. He had to breathe. He had to leave before he broke down right there in grief or anger.

He reached the alcove behind the doors and paused, focusing completely on breathing in deep and even breaths.

Looking up from the floor, he glanced back through the glass doors and into the room beyond. Seeing all the pain, the despair, he realized, with a grim epiphany that this tragedy might just be the catalyst to rupture the team and break them. Emily always had kept them together. She kept the peace. God knows how she did it with Reid and Morgan being the numbskulls that they were, but somehow, she always managed to quietly keep them in line. She comforted JJ and Penelope when the stress became too much and was always willing to accept a free coffee break with Dave. And as for him… there would be a scar. She had meant the world to him and now that she was gone… But he couldn't fall apart. He had a son to watch over. He had to be strong for Jack and the team and for himself.

As his eyes refocused on the scene before him, he noticed JJ walking toward him purposefully. Within seconds, her grief-ridden face disappeared only to be replaced by a cold mask of professionalism and major import.

When she reached him, she opened the glass door slowly, entering the alcove with only the slightest hesitation. Sighing deeply, she crossed her arms over her chest wearily. "You know the drill. She goes off-grid. She hunts Doyle. We know nothing. We cannot contact her once she goes out as she will not technically exist." Hotch nodded his understanding, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the wall behind JJ. He had to keep his guard up and not betray any reaction of happiness or relief.

"Hotch," JJ began again carefully, "You are only hearing this because Emily asked me specifically to tell you. In fact, as far as the government is concerned, you think Emily is dead. And it is extremely important that you do not let anyone know any differently. Even the team. I don't care how objective they may seem, at the end of the day, Doyle would find out and this shitload starts all over again." JJ closed her eyes tightly for a minute before resuming the debriefing. "Listen, I'm not supposed to be telling you any of this. As far as I'm concerned, you're the most at risk of exposing her and—" She cut off Hotch's protests, "and even though I know you would never intentionally put her in harm's way, there is no denying that as a romantic relationship exists between the two of you there is extreme danger in you knowing. I told you because Emily has me in the strictest confidence that you will be able to restrain yourself. You have to restrain yourself, Hotch. If you let anyone know I told you this I could lose my job and, worse, we could both lose our lives. If you get antsy or tempted, think of Jack, Hotch. Think of what he would do if you were taken out by Doyle's men. And you know as well as I that in your case, he doesn't spare children." She let that lie a minute; let it sink in fully before adding quietly, "She asked me to give this to you."

Hotch looked down to see her holding a small folded up piece of paper. She slipped it into his jacket pocket surreptitiously.

Finally, before turning away to leave, JJ looked him straight in the eyes for the first time since she had entered the alcove. "Hotch, she's gonna find this guy and take him out for good." Her tone was lighter, more comforting, more like the tone she's used on Spencer. This tone was JJ.

But even so, his initial elation at the news of Emily's survival faded, making way for the fear of her safety and the ache of the lie he knew he was now going to have to live.

And with that, the acceptance of that ugly prospect, he sighed deeply, "I don't know, Jayje." And he left, leaving behind him the trail of the false death and broken hearts it had caused.

:::::::

JJ watched Hotch leave. She knew that as long as he had Jack, he would never put himself in the suicidal danger of hunting Doyle and Emily. Still, she worried about him. He had gone through so much this year already. Her face softened as his last words sank in. Jayje. He'd never called her that before. Only the others had, terming it for a nickname of the nickname she already possessed. It was, she knew, his way of communicating trust and affection as he could not bear anything else. Yes, he would bear with it. Emily was right. He was going to cope. Then, cloaking her features once more in a mask of soft despair, she reentered the hospital waiting room to rejoin her former teammates in their mourning.

::::::

It wasn't until he'd left the hospital and turned onto the highway that Hotch remembered the note Emily had left for him. His hand jumped to his pocket, feeling for the rectangular shape of the folded paper. Without thinking twice, Hotch pulled over, off the road to the side and hastily retrieved the noted, fumbling to undo its fold.

It was handwritten on clean, white stationary paper. There was a small picture of a lily flower in the top, right corner. In the center of the note, there was a single, round stain where teardrop had met ink, leaving only a slight smudge.

_Aaron, _

_I know you may not understand why I am doing this nor do I expect you to. I do know thatas long as I am alive, Doyle will not stop. Only this time, he won't wait for me. He will attack everyone I love first. _

_If you're reading this, then JJ already filled you in on my mission. I wish I didn't have to write to you, that I could tell you in person. But, a face to face encounter, even with a supposed corpse would not end well for either of us. I wish, two, that this was not a goodbye. Maybe in a few years, once I finish this and it all blows over, maybe then we will see each other. Maybe not. We're both too rational to make promises of that happening that could very well not come true._

_Most of all, you cannot reveal my existence to __anyone__. Even those we would trust with our lives. Also, Aaron, do not come after me. Whatever you hear, whatever you feel or see, do __not__. I cannot put you in danger like that and you're doing so would equally endanger m life. I will be under an alias. Emily Prentiss is dead. Do not try to contact her. If he catches any wind of you, Aaron, he'll be after you and Jack and he will kill you. I cannot let that happen. _

_I do hope we will meet again, Aaron._

_Je t'aime et je suis votre amour toujours,_

_Emily_

Hotch's eyes traced over and over the words until he knew them by heart.

After a while, he carefully folded up the note and slid it into his breast pocket. Then, starting the car, he headed home to see his son.

Hotch knew the risks. He understood the sacrifices Emily was making for the both of them. He understood the sacrifices that he too had to make.

As he closed the distance between him and his home, Hotch also decided something, something crucial: he would wait. Years, months, weeks, he would wait. They **would** meet again.

_A/N 2: Okay, so the little bit in French is a bit of a hat tip to the end of the episode where you see Emily and JJ in Paris, France. It's very basic, phrase wise so I think I shan't tell you what it says. If you feel like you shall burst of curiosity, look it up. _

_In the meantime: Reviews! They're good for the heart and soul! _


	3. A Difference of Opinion

_A/N: First things first! Thank you so much for the fabulous reviews! They bring happiness to the cold, cob-webbed cockles of that black hole where my heart should be! :)_

_Okay so this chapter is a bit more complex. Each time you see the 'x's, it indicates a change in POV. As to who's POV it will change to each time, well I'm fairly sure you'll have no problem figuring that out on your own. _

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Hotch entered the bullpen for the first time since Emily's funeral.

It seemed odd to him, entering the BAU alone. He'd grown accustomed to their schedule of near-identical arrival times. He'd grown accustomed to walking in with her, many times lingering at her desk to finish the morning's conversation. It had been a radical change, when he'd started doing that. Beforehand, even if they walked in at the same time, he kept the conversation strictly professional an impersonal, cutting it off as soon as the elevator doors opened. Once they became friends, however, the conversations included far more personal information, little tidbits of information, seemingly unimportant to life. But those conversations were the trigger to the blossoming friendship turned relationship that had occurred soon after. Today, as he looked out into the dim, fluorescent lighting and vacant desk chairs, he did not linger. As soon as he walked through the glass doors he made a beeline to his office and shut the door promptly.

Once his blinds were safely closed, he began to calm down. There was a reason that fraternization was intensely frowned upon in governmental positions such as theirs. This break off wasn't like his divorce with Hayley. Besides the obvious remaining emotional commitment between them, Emily ad Hotch had spent virtually all day together, every day of the week. With her gone, even if alive, he began to feel like a body missing a limb. He ran a tired hand over his face. It had been a long night. Jack had begun to ask questions regarding the whereabouts of Emily. He simply didn't understand why Daddy's friend had disappeared so suddenly.

But, really, what do you tell a kid like that, a kid who did not socially know many people since the witness protection and the kidnapping and his own mother's death?

_Hey son, see now, remember how that guy point blank blew your mother's brains out? Well this other bad guy came and impaled Emily with the pointed end of a 2X4. So basically on of the only other stable adults in your life has abandoned you again. Get it? Great! Let's go get ice cream!_

Hotch knew he should get Jack out there. He knew the boy needed friends and social interaction. It was only health. But what with his job, what he saw every single day, he wanted nothing more than to hide Jack away from all the world's corruption and hate. It would only be too easy to do it too. But he couldn't. He was left in limbo, juggling contradicting urges, playing the role of half-assed father while Hayley's sister practically raised his son day to day. Just the way Hayley had had to do.

Even without the guilt of not spending enough time with Jack, he knew he was struggling. Emotionally, he had been taking beating after beating this year as if some karmic WWE wrestler had decided to own his ass.

Maybe it was because he hadn't gone to church since the divorce. Maybe that was it. Maybe God thought a little taste of Job in his life was just what the doctor ordered.

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. How ironic it'd be: the loving, forgiving, **vindictive** God we all knew and loved. Sunday mass never looked more exciting.

The small click of the BAU doors opening brought him out of his religious reverie. It was time to begin the work day.

XXXXXXXX

Derek Morgan walked out of the elevator and through the doors of the BAU, laughing heartily at Pen's latest joke. As he caught sight of the desk that had once belonged to Emily Prentiss however, the laughter died in his throat quickly as it had begun.

It had felt good to laugh. God knows no one could make it happen more than his Baby Girl. But now, it flooded back to him, all of it, the reason behind the funk he'd been in.

It wasn't even that she was… gone. It was more than that. It was the residual mistrust he still felt toward her, his **dead** partner! Even now, after her death, he still couldn't shake the little tick that made the hairs on the back of his head raise. Something just didn't sit right about the whole ordeal despite them having gotten every minutiae of information able to be derived from the case, the scene and the Interpol Corporation itself. None of it added up right.

The Emily Prentiss he knew didn't leave her badge and gun anywhere. She didn't consult with European spies or sleep with foreign weapons dealers for a case. The Emily Prentiss he knew didn't pretend to pull the trigger on small children in order to appease North Korean prison guards or run off to play bounty hunter against a whole band of Irish crime lords. But most of all, the Emily Prentiss he had known never lied.

So how was it, he wished to know, that the woman who's desk sat across from his, who's moral compass could not seemingly point more north; how was it that the woman who he'd trusted with his life countless times was just that: a lie.

XXXXXXX

Penelope followed Derek into the bullpen, her eyes following his line of sight to undercover the reason behind his abrupt bought of silence.

As soon as she spotted it, she knew. It was the desk. She'd known it would be hard to comeback after their leave of absence. She was right. The minute her eyes laid themselves upon the vacant furniture they began to well up with tears.

Guilt bubbled in her chest as she realized not five minutes ago she'd been **laughing**. She'd been **happy. **Happy! At a time like this! And, she noted as she observed the utterly bare surface of Emily's former workspace, the scum-sucking bastards at maintenance had already dumped her things. Did they know what mourning was? Her precious chica's memory needed preserving! The should mark it down as a honorary monument to attest to her fabulosity.

Penelope glanced back at Derek to see if he was as outraged as she by this complete disregard for humanity. What she saw was… disturbing.

She was by no means a profiler and gladly so. But when a person spends as much time schmoozing with her chocolate lollipop as much as she did, they would tend to get acquainted with the many expressions of Derek Morgan. This particular example was by far one of the worst she'd ever seen.

Derek was staring at Emily's desk with an expression of the utmost revulsion. No, that wasn't about maintenance or cleaners or management, it was personal. But why in God's name would her sweet cheeks be so messed up by **Emily**?

But he, like she said a thousand times over, she was no profiler.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Reid was still pretty screwed up. Right after the funeral he'd booked the first flight out to Las Vegas to visit his mother. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he had decided to journey there. It wasn't like she was a naturally empathetic or understanding person. And, frankly, hat with the migraines he was experiencing, he hadn't had much intention of going anywhere near a ten mile radius of another schizophrenic. But that was before Emily died.

As it was, his mother did, surprisingly, help. She regularly had a knack for single handedly insulting his entire team, labeling them into niches and stereotypes in order to fit them into her paranoid conspiracy plots. As far as she was concerned: Hotch was a governmentally hired assassin hunting her down via her son, Morgan was a gangbanger in cahoots with Rossi, the _real_ Italian mob head both of whom naturally want to steal away the secrets of her mind as well. JJ was, as it seemed, in charge of all things media related. She conveyed messages globally in an effort to hunt Diana Reid down. The only characterization that made sense was Garcia as she apparently was terrifying enough as herself and needed no additional menace. From what Reid had seen of the information Garcia was always able to dig out of the system, even after being encrypted and buried so deep as to make it nearly impossible to find, she was a force to be reckoned with indeed.

For some subconscious reasoning, however, Emily had not struck Diana as a potential threat on any level. As ironic as he found this to be –what with Emily having been the only member of the team to be involved with any conspiracies or spy work at all- Reid had found this particular character fluke to be just the thing he needed to hear…

...

"_It really is a shame, Spencer. She was such a good person," Diana began, reached over to stiffly pat Reid's arm in what he assumed to be a comforting manner, "I'll never forget what she did for you in Colorado."_

_Reid grimaced as memories of Emily's voluntary torture rushed back to him. He'd felt so awful._

"_She cared about you, you know." She told him, briefly catching his eye. For a moment he could see a glimpse of the strong, intelligent woman he knew his mother to really be before she returned to her usual tick of flicking her eyes to and fro about the room. "And she knew you felt the same way, Spencer."_

_..._

But did she? He couldn't help but wonder if she ever really had known

The elevatored chimed him back into reality as he reached the level of the BAU and his workplace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dave's head hurt like a mother. For as long as he'd been in the business of hunting down serial killers, never once had he purposely gotten hammered the night before a workday. Sure, once or twice in the academy but once he'd hit the big leagues, the real world he'd burned that bridge.

But to hell with it if he wasn't preparing for Hurricane Hotchner and his calamity crew. So, against his better judgment – what little there was remaining- he had indeed gotten very much drunk. And we're talking fall-asleep-on-the-bathroom-floor-drunk.

As he opened the glass doors to the BAU, Dave could see the reminder of her absence had already struck home. Derek was seated at his desk, his face flickering from emotion to emotion. Clearly he was still struggling with Emily's double lives. Reid wasn't doing much better. The younger agent too sat at his station, shuffling completed files of paperwork and various reports over the top of his desk. His face was oddly blank and his eyes glazed over. As per usual, his mind was wandering. Penelope looked perhaps worst of all. Her eyes were red-rimmed and full to the brim with worry. She kept sending furtive glances at Reid and Derek, as if they were fragile things about to break. Dave cringed inwardly, silently dreading the awkward moments that would be shared between them. What did one say after coming back from a two week mourning period of your colleague of over four years? Not much, apparently.

In all rights, Dave understood and very much shared their pain. He had been very fond of Emily as a colleague, a friend and a person. He had had no doubt in his mind that today, the first day back, was going to be a total bitch. The emotional stitches were coming out and it was going to hurt like hell for all of them.

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_A/N 2: So, I hope you caught that the little bought of italic print in Reid's segment was indeed a flashback. I much enjoyed this chapter. It's not so often I write so many personalities in one sitting. At the same time, the feat was challenging. _

_Reviews are what keep the chapters coming, people. Assuming I don't die or suffer from chronic writer's block, I give you chapters when you give me reviews! _


	4. Mirror Images

_A/N: Hooray for the first Emily POV chapter! This was interesting to plot out. I had to write it several different ways before settling on a preferred angle of which I could follow. I hope you enjoy my choice._

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Emily looked down at her reflection in disgust. The hideous "tattoo" Ian had burned into her skin glared back at her, its angry scars significantly contrasted against her the pale hue of her skin.

The doctors at the ICU had given her ointments and bandages along with a complete regimen to follow in order to minimize infection and continual damage. They had not, however, provided her with a way to remove the accursed mark from her chest. Nothing short of a skin graph would clear it away and as of yet, even that option was not feasible.

Grudgingly she squeezed a small portion of the prescribed solution onto her finger tip and applied it to the wound. She hissed slightly, her nerves opposing the cold contact of the ointment. Once she was content that the grievance was treated, she reapplied a bandage and dressed for the day.

Turning away from the bathroom, Emily reassessed her surroundings. The dingy hotel in which she had chosen to stay was meager at best. It held no merits or tourist attractions. The furniture in her small space was threadbare, paint chipping from the cheap wooden frames. In the upper West corner of the room, away from any windows or doors, Emily had placed the bed. The tired sheets were bunched up and crumpled near the foot of the bed. She hadn't slept a full night of sleep in a long time and her restless movements were evidenced in the sheet's positions. There were end tables placed about, all coated with various shades of faded blue paint. The windows of the bedroom, once open and bright, had been covered by thick curtains, leaving only the dim light of fluorescent overhead bulbs to illuminate the area.

In the center of the room was a single rickety table. Strewn across its top were files upon files, all tracking the movements of Ian Doyle. Placed carefully on a mug shot of the man was a .45 caliber pistol, bullets all laid out strategically for her easy access.

Emily returned to the table, adjusting the files in order of location, date and subject. She had done her best to gather as much Intel as possible. Her success had surprisingly been swift and all collection had undergone without so much as a hitch. She'd accumulated floor plans, blue prints, schedules, employment records: everything required of a one-woman coup.

Looking over the charts and graphs once more, she nodded to herself. It was time. She'd prepared everything, covered every angle, considered every twist. She knew it wasn't perfect. The details, though excellent in routine and timing, were tangible-as all human things were- and therefore subject to change. But she had done all she could. Waiting any longer would only allow Ian more time to gather a new band of cronies and set out in search of Declan. It had to be done now or never and never, well… that was not an option.

Slipping the .45 into an empty holster, Emily headed over to the concealed safe behind one of the more decrepit end tables. The contents of the safe removed and packed safely away with everything else, Emily glanced back once more into the mirror hanging on the opposite wall.

Staring out at her was a woman she hardly knew. Her straight black hair fell about her shoulder like a silky curtain. Everything from the clothing the woman wore to the makeup adorning her face accentuated the foreign attributes that caused Emily's reflection to appear unfamiliar. This new woman, this "Rebecca Lawrence" figure struck Emily as a fairly shallow human, unable to display any of the depth or personality that Emily felt within her. Emily found herself doubting their relation. This woman had no morals, no boundaries. She was a ruthless, meticulous killer, geared up to strike at her next victim. The woman Emily faced in the mirror couldn't be loyal to a team, couldn't be in a mutually beneficial relationship with a man purely out of the whims of her own heart. This woman could not feel love.

Their eyes were connected, being reflections of one another, and yet appeared seemingly sequestered.

The cold, glass eyes of her twin stared back at her a moment longer before finally, she turned and departed from the room. Emily could not help but wonder if it would be easier, better to live her life as her mirror-twin did, devoid of emotion and feeling. She could not help but feel that even as she had left her reflection to the mirror, it as the soulless replica that now walked with her body. It seemed as if the replica had taken control, abandoning her sentiment and compassion for deadly precision.

Even more frightening a prospect to her, however, was her total acceptance of the possibility, her near welcome of it even in light of the massive killing spree she had planned ahead of her. With that last, lingering thought hanging in the air, Emily pushed open the main lobby door of the hotel and stepped out, into the sunlight, on toward the task before her.

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_A/N 2: Okay first off, I figured since in the show they discussed the "L/R" codename pattern that I'd switch it up. Inventive, I know. Also, despite JJ having given Emily the money to live "comfortably," Emily still needs to keep under the radar so a smaller, less classy hotel was a better choice for her._

_I hold my chapters ransom until I fill a quota of reviews per chapter… or unless I get a REALLY nice comment that either inspires me or just is completely flattering…. So Review!_


	5. Family, Hope and Understanding

_A/N: Ch.5! _

_I'd like to majorly thank you guys for the reviews! I got a few helpful ones and then some warm, fuzzy ones. It's loverly. Do note, though, that being so swamped as I am in life, I will write faster and update sooner when given ideas on my pieces so if you have 'em, I'm all for it!_

_So, just to clarify: this chapter is most definitely AU. The first few chapters were cannon and even Ch. 3 could have followed the cannon idea. But, as soon as we left the team at the hospital, it was AU from there and all to my whim. I thought I'd iron that out as this chapter veers from cannon details._

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Aaron Hotchner let himself into his house quietly. It was far later than he'd hoped.

They had just returned from a case in Denver, Colorado. It had been a rough one what with it being their first case sans Emily. Besides that though, the case itself was a nightmare. The UNSUB was only a kid, 19 years old. He had projected all his pent up rage at his alcoholic father at alpha male fathers. These men had children. Hotch, particularly disliked the psychology behind this killer. He too had had an alcoholic for a father. Granted, Hotch had toed the line all the way to where he was now. He'd never ventured to take the serial killer path. Still, it had been hard enough to empathize with someone you could not help but agree with on some deeper level. He knew that the brutal slaughter of the victims had been unwarranted and wrong but e understood the rage and trigger. He'd missed Emily all the more for it. She'd have been there to reassure him needlessly that he wasn't the monster some claimed him to be, that he really did have empathy and morality… To remind him that he had a heart.

But, for better or for worse, the case was over. He was home. As he entered the living room, Hotch looked about at the wreckage. There were toys strewn about the place: trains, cars, army men, blocks, dominoes. Jack had had a busy day indeed.

Hotch paused, absentmindedly picking up a few toys as he made his way to his son's room.

The lights of Jacks' bedroom were off, a single red fire-truck night-light illuminating the space. His son was sleeping peacefully, his miniature hands grasping a scruffy teddy bear lightly to his chest.

Hotch's mouth tilted into a sad smile. Emil had given Jack that bear a mere four weeks prior to the Doyle case. She'd said it was a keepsake from her childhood; a gift from her father to her and now from her to Jack. The smile slid from his face as he thought of her absence.

But, he reminded himself, she **wasn't **dead. She had recovered from the surgery completely, the wooden stave having missed its mark of fatality. She was more than lucky, he knew that. And despite his initial nausea at the idea of Emily hunting down Doyle, he knew that ad it been he that were in her shoes, he would do the same. He would protect his son, his team, his Emily. He understood her need to fulfill this obligation, even if he didn't like it.

Still, he'd just as soon have her home. Never before had he found himself wanting a man dead nearly as much as now. Whoa. Realization him hard as those thoughts formed themselves in his head. He loved her, it was true, but the fact that her disappearance could provoke a rage equal if not more than the feelings he had felt toward Hoyte. Huh.

Jack shifted in his sleep, murmuring slightly. Hotch smiled once more. He leaned down to place a light kiss on his son's forehead.

Jack's eyes fluttered open, his expression clouded with sleep. As comprehension dawned on him, a wide grin broke out over his face. His dad was home! Shooting up, out of bed, he launched himself into his father's arms and hugged him tightly.

"Hey buddy, I'm sorry I woke you," Hotch whispered, his face displaying a mirrored smile.

This, this life here was why Emily had gone. This love, this family that had recently enveloped her; this home. She was a member of their family as much as she was a member of their team at the BAU. This life was something that Hotch knew he, himself would never, in a million years give up. And Hotch knew, too, that for Emily, this rang true as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_A/N 2: Okay, so this one is quite short, I know. Still… I thought it was important to clear up Hotch's feelings and establish the preliminary relationship between Emily, Jack and Hotch. I might do a similar soliloquy thing for Derek depending on how it will fit in. I'm not sure. _

_How do you like it so far? Do tell… And I'm not adverse to writing a few frivolous chapters here and there, I only need inspiration. When I get a story like this going, it's constant deep emotion. Any light stuff needs provocation. So, do yourself a favor and review! With great reviews come great things to review!_


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